


Murder-Venge-Friend-Trip

by shybi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dungeons and Dragons and Bastards, Gen, I do not give a flying fuck about Faerun lore, Of my nasty man Prospero and his good friend Redd, This is a place for me to put these short stories, no beta we die like natasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24836836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shybi/pseuds/shybi
Summary: The Eternal Flame is preserved, the Creator begins a new cycle, the Lich is defeated, and Salt Marsh prevails. Amongst all this, two bastards travel across Faerun in search of closure and madcap adventures.
Relationships: Prospero & Redd / Banter, Prospero/Rude Bitch Syndrome, Redd/Righteous Rage
Kudos: 2





	1. Heat and Horses

Summers of southwestern Faerun were always the hottest, especially if you were unfortunate enough to be living on the coastline. It was always buggy, always humid, always near unbearable and with little to no relief. When the two of them had lived in Salt Marsh, Prospero and Redd had their own methods of coping with it. Redd was always right on the water, and a quick dip or splash was never out of the question if a break in the docks work allowed it. Prospero took to a bit of prestidigitation, creating puffs of cool air that could soothe him beneath the often-sweaty mask.

Neither of these options seemed to be working for them at the moment.

It had been two days since they’d left town and their two (sometimes three, depending on how they felt about Will that day) other friends behind. The trip had been delayed after Prospero had realized that he hadn’t properly prepped Nikita to take over his role as Ringmaster and _still_ hadn’t worked out the details of his replacement for the end-of-the-month Solstice Festival. After his personal trial, he didn’t much care for abandoning them without any details or support a second time. Redd had teased him, of course, but had been overall patient as he watched the half-elf frantically race back and forth between the circus and the docks, picking up shipments and amassing a multitude of paperwork. When they finally _had_ left, they walked for about a day before Prospero had stopped and insisted that walking was not an efficient means of travel, and that they should double back and purchase horses. Redd insisted that the horses were just likely to be stolen (he’d had some personal experience in this regard, and _not_ as the victim), so there was no point in backtracking, and for god’s sake to stop complaining because he wasn’t going to die due to sore feet.

Prospero had been quiet, but that only lasted for an hour. After which, he had immediately taken to dragging his feet and occasionally muttering muffled complaints from beneath the mask. Redd found himself wondering how in the world this man had managed to travel as much as he claimed.

A couple of days in, however, the two were hit with what could only be described as the worst heat wave to hit southwestern Faerun in years. The two of them, despite being shaded by a copse of thick trees, woke up that morning with their mouths dry and their skin drenched with sweat. There was an unbearable thickness to the air that seemed inescapable no matter how many coats were shed, or gusts of wind were conjured for cooling purposes. With great reluctance, the two of them set out for the day through the expanse of green fields before them. Both cringed the very second that they stepped out into the sunlight. It was scintillating and suffocatingly hot. The two nevertheless soldiered bravely through the plains with less than dignified groans throughout. Nearly an hour in, Prospero had removed his mask and was holding it at his side with as minimal effort as he could put forth. His pale skin was dripping with sweat, and his cold blue eyes drooped nearly as much as his posture. He’d peeled off most layers of clothing long ago and tucked them under his long, dangling limbs, which gave the impression that they might be melting off his body.

Redd fared no better, taking in deep, occasionally shuddering breaths in an attempt to cool himself. Nevertheless, the black ends of his red hair stuck uncomfortably to the sweat covering his forehead. He was a head shorter than Prospero, but had shifted to his swifter fox form earlier on in the hopes that the journey might go faster. All this resulted in was him being forced to stop and wait each time he significantly outpaced Prospero, and all in all decided that it wasn’t worth the extra fur, heat, or trouble. He’d kept on the usual open red vest and white sailor shirt, but whether this was out of genuine nonchalance or spite that the heat wouldn’t get the best of him was anyone’s guess. All of this culminated, of course, with the two of them realizing that their waterskins had been emptied in just over an hour of walking. Half-hearted accusations didn’t so much fly than hovered, neither having the energy for a real argument. Instead, the two wiped the sweat dripping into their eyes and squinted over the horizon, finding a patch of trees for a bit of rest and further planning.

They squatted down before a parchment map smoothed out upon a patch of cleared earth.

“Right.” Redd pointed toward cluster of shaded green a few centimeters right of the coast. “That’s us, yeah? ‘Fields of the Dead’ We could eh… try going toward Elturel down there” he moved his finger downward, “Pick up some more supplies? Some more fresh water? There’s a river right next to it.”

“Supplies and horses.” Prospero nodded sagely. “Good thinking, my dear boy.” He clapped Redd on the back, who winced as his hand unknowingly brushed a sunburn.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, I’m hot enough already. Also, we _don’t_ need any horses.” He rolled his eyes, folding up the map as best he could without dampening it. “It’ll just mean having to feed them and make sure _they_ don’t keel over and guard them at night. It’s not worth it.”

“We finished our water in an _hour_ and you think we’ll be able to take an entire _day_ like this?” Prospero raised a brow, warping the curved scar above it.

“It’ll be the same problem with _two animals!_ ” Redd hissed, but then put a hand to his forehead as he began to feel his vision dance. “ _Fuck_ , it’s hot.”

“Perhaps, my dear boy, the heat would be easier on you if you didn’t have to wal—”

“ _No_ horses, for fuck’s sake!” Redd snapped a final time. “Let’s just head to Elturel, rest, restock, and travel by night when it’s cooler. Aye?”

There was a pause that Redd knew all too well: the pause where Prospero was calculating whether or not it was worth it to continue the argument until _he_ felt he’d won, or simply let things lie as they were.

“… Fine, aye,” He conceded, but not before muttering, _“Stubborn imp.”_

“Whiny scarecrow,” Redd shot back with a tired chuckle, pushing himself up from his knees.

“Patchy-furred weasel.”

“Clown.”

“… Now _that_ was rude.”

Redd gave another short laugh and a light punch to Prospero’s arm, who muttered something about brutality before the two of them continued their hike.

* * *

When the two of them reached Elturel around noon, they were completely soaked. Happily enough, it was not in sweat, but in the river water they’d happened across before arriving. They had, without much forethought at all, decided to leap in into the cool waters. They had, with a bit more forethought, had to leap out of the cool waters after Redd was beset upon by leeches. After the shouting had died down and many vengeful stomps had been delivered, the two of them made their way across the creaking oak bridge toward town (though not before passing by a stable which Prospero had not-so-subtly pointed out at least three times as they passed).

Elturel was not a rich or large town by any means. Though, the thatched roofs and brick walls of the houses must have indicated that much. The buildings were spread out between only a handful of dirt and gravel roads, upon which children and farm animals ducked and weaved between the occasional merchant or traveller’s wagon. Prospero had been careful to put his mask back on before entry. Though they were a fair distance from Imfelle, he didn’t know how far the symbol of ‘Traitor’ stretched across the lands and preferred not to tempt fate. As a result, the two of them received rather strange looks from the townsfolk. Two strange men completely drenched in water, armed to the teeth and clearly carrying themselves as though they’d just escaped death tended to garner such attention.

It did not take long for Prospero to start up his usual gambit of ‘harmless eccentric’ for the locals. Now that he wasn’t on the receiving end, it sometimes made Redd slightly uncomfortable to see the tactics previously used on him and his friends from an outside perspective. The exaggerated gestures, the rapid speech, the theatrical voice, the seemingly innocent compliments and questions. All of it was so different from the Prospero that Redd had grown used to that it almost felt like he was standing next to an alien rather than a friend. Of course, in Redd’s case, those were practically synonyms. And of course, in Prospero’s case, the tactics were mainly very effective. Within a few minutes, the bard had explained that the two of them were simple travellers, defectors from a carnival seeking adventure who were merely looking for a place to stay the night and replenish supplies. It was only a half-lie, but he certainly did his best to downplay their arsenal of weapons. This was partially achieved by insisting that the _copious_ amounts of knives that Redd carried were for juggling purposes only, and then insisting that he give a demonstration.

Most of their day was spent running errands and waiting for nightfall. Prospero had brought up that a midnight trek would mean extreme exhaustion, and the two of them _certainly_ weren’t going to be able to rearrange their typical sleeping habits in just one day to prepare for it. In response, Redd (only half-joking) suggested that the two of them could simply drink themselves into a blackout and wake up by evening. He was surprised when Prospero actually agreed to it.

The bartender, a red Dragonborn of disproportionate size to his profession, had only let them in after they’d taken some time to dry themselves off. From there, they sanctioned off a corner booth for themselves and began running up a tab. Happily enough, the drinks were cheap enough that neither of them was worried about incurring too much debt over this endeavour. Thus it began with the two of them clinking their mugs together, Redd’s seated position blocking Prospero as he lifted the mask a few inches to take careful sips.

“It feels weird without the other two, eh?” Redd began, wiping some of the froth from his mouth.

Prospero opened his mouth to respond before his mouth, thus yet the only visible part of his face, abruptly downturned. “Ech… indeed.” Upon seeing Redd’s perplexed expression, he elaborated. “No, no, not them. I’ve just… I’ve never drank often, and when I did it was, well… a bit more refined than this.”

Like a wolf who’d gotten a whiff of a wounded animal, Redd’s lips parted, bearing his 'fangs' in a cheeky grin. “Ohhh! Well _pardon me_!” He sang, “Forgot I was sittin’ with a _nobleman._ ”

Prospero sighed, dropping his forehead onto his palm. _“Oh gods, don’t start.”_

“What was I thinking, treating you to _cheap swill_ like this?”

“Please shut up.”

“Should we be orderin’ you some wine instead? Get it imported all proper-like?”

“Yes. Fine. You’ve made your point, Axen.”

“Will you be wantin’ a roast supper as well? How about an orchestra? Do you figure we could get—”

_“Please shut up already.”_

Redd was having trouble keeping in his own snickering. Nevertheless, he raised his open palms as a signifier of truce. “Fine, fine _._ Just drink your cheap ale you idiot.”

Prospero scoffed, muttering something under his breath before taking another sip. There was a long pause.

“… You sure I can’t get you some kind’a garnish for--"

Redd’s joke was rudely interrupted as Prospero shoved him straight out of his seat and onto the floor. Amidst his own cackling, he cursed his bard for spilling his drink, climbing back up to –

* * *

_Prospero was performing some sort of terrible tap dance next to their booth, mask on, whooping with laughter. Redd found himself following suit, holding his gut with one hand and the wood table’s edge with the other. The flailing limbs and jerky movements was making the masked man look like a marionette with a poor handler._

_“We’ve not even had that much!” Redd snorted, “How lightweight are you? Your drink’s not even done!”_

_Prospero’s dance slowed, and there was a moment’s pause. “Weeeeell my dear boy!” He reached toward the unfinished mug, his costumed body bouncing with a hiccup. “Clearly… as’h a_ feather _!” He hiccupped again, splashing the drink in his face and subsequently broke down in another fit of laughter._

_The other patrons – few as there were in the mid-afternoon -- were beginning to stare at the spectacle. Redd felt his cheeks heat and began making shushing sounds to Prospero. Of course, the drink was starting to loosen his tongue, so his mouth didn’t make a “Shhhhh” sound as much as a poor attempt at whistling._

_Prospero’s gloved hand began unsteadily reaching toward him. It took Redd a few moments to realize that the bard was trying to grab at his shirt collar. “What’re you doin’?”_

_“I’m_ trying _,” Prospero replied with a grunt and another clumsy swipe, “To force you to come dance, my dear boy! Come dance and sing!” He hiccupped again, and Redd only took another swig of his drink in response._

_“Oh no,” Redd chuckled, “You’re not getting me down there. Tippity-tappin’ like the rest of –_

* * *

_Everything stunk. Redd’s stomach lurched, and he groaned as he stuck his head back into the chamber pot. He felt a clenched hand holding back his hair as he upheaved acidic liquid from his gut. The smell made his eyes water, and he could hear mumbled apologies from behind him_ –

* * *

Redd awoke to a snug white blanket and the stale taste of vomit. Some of the straw from the mattress was jutting out of the fabric and was conceding to poke him in his bare back. He went to sit up, but his vision reeled the second he moved. There was a rhythmic, throbbing pain behind his eyes, and he brought a hand up to them as though trying to staunch a gaping wound. After a moment, he blinked several times to better survey his strange surroundings. Around ten feet to his left, moonlight was pouring through a window left partially ajar. The room was dark, though his natural fox’s vision allowed him to pick out the rustic wooden walls, a second empty and well-made bed to the left of the window, an old chest resting next to the door, and a faded rug covering most of the splintered floorboards in the center of the room.

Next to his bed was a nightstand, upon which were two cups and a note with swooping, curling letters that nearly gave Redd vertigo when he first tried to read them. It took several attempts before he could actually make out the writing:

_“Redd— You were still asleep, so I’ve gone out to pick up our supplies and settle some tabs. When you wake, take the potion, then the water (dehydration is a silly way to die) and then meet me at the north exit of town. – Percival”_

He let out another loud grunt and ran his fingers through his tangled locks, which resulted in getting his fingers caught. With one hand irritably untangling itself, the other reached for whatever potion his friend had left and gulped it down.

Almost immediately, he felt his throat contract. His sinuses began bursting with heat, and a strange tingling spread across the center of his face as though he had an urge to sneeze. His brain was pounding, threatening to burst straight from his skull. He doubled over in a fit of violent coughing, his vision fluctuating madly between spotty and glaring with odd light.

He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his head and enduring. Mercifully, the onslaught faded rather quickly, taking the aches of his hangover with it and leaving him with only a shortness of breath and dryness of the throat. His left hand snapped outward, gripping bringing the mug of water to his lips and gulping down the cool drink like an old drain. Once the glass was empty, he stared out the crack in the window yet visible to him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The night was young, and he was ready to leave.

* * *

When he left his room, the hulking innkeeper had informed him that “the funny masked one” had already paid their tab, and that he should run along and catch up to him because he’s probably been waiting quite a while. Redd left the inn, taking a lungful of the now cool and tolerable outdoor air. The muggy day had given way to a far foggier night. As such, Redd only ended up passing a few locals. Most appeared to be merchants packing up outdoor displays or taking moonlight walks. Redd didn’t pay them much more than a passing glance. By the moon, it looked like the sun had only recently set. There was plenty of time for travel that night.

When he reached the southern exit of Elturel, he realized that he’d gone the wrong way. He swore under his breath and quickly turned to walk straight back through to the other side.

When he reached the northern edge of Elturel, he was a degree more annoyed, but could make out a shape in the foggy distance. The figure raised an arm in a wave, which he happily returned as he started out towards it.

Redd was not an idiot. He’d grown up under… interesting circumstances which had taught him two important lessons: 1. If it feels too easy, you’re being set up, and 2. Don’t trust what your eyes can’t verify. As such, despite knowing that it was _most likely_ Prospero waiting for him, he kept a hand resting on the hilt of his trusty blade as he approached.

The figure began to clear as he moved closer. A blue and gold overcoat, knee-high boots, a white mask—Yes. This was Prospero. Redd rolled his eyes and nearly took the hand from his blade, but stopped when he noticed two much larger shapes looming behind the man. He sucked in a breath through a set jaw, advancing slowly and cautiously, hoping that he could warn Prospero before they got the jump on him. Gods, they looked far from humanoid. Long, misshapen faces giving way to thick necks and powerful shoulders. Lengthy hair that fell in shaggy manes over their eyes, four legs that—

Four legs?

_Long faces, shaggy manes?_

_“_ FOUR LEGS!” Redd shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger toward Prospero as two fine-looking but somewhat startled horses trotted into proper view.

Prospero jumped at the sudden shout and lifted the mask to sit on his dark head of hair. He offered a warm smile, but his blue eyes held a certain degree of unease. “Redd!” He clapped his hands together. “Good to see you, my dear boy. I was beginning—”

 _“FOUR LEGS!”_ He shrieked again, gesturing wildly to the entirety of the horses.

“Ah,” Prospero’s smile fell as he turned his head back to look at them. “Yes, well—We’d seen that stable earlier, and I thought that I might just go ahead and pick up—”

“That scared the hells out of me, Percival! I thought we agreed on no horses.” The shifter’s face scrunched up in frustration. “We can walk on our own. You were _there_ for that agreement, right?”

“Redd,” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, assuming the tone of an exasperated parent. “Stop being unreasonable. This will shorten our trip _and_ lessen the work for us. I’ve paid for all of it. All you’ll have to do is tip their feed bags toward them on occasion.”

“Are _these_ the _‘supplies’_ ” Redd raised his fingers for air quotes, “You were so intent on pickin’ up before we left? Seriously?”

“You were still asleep when I woke up, I had some time to think, and I came to the conclusion that despite our agreement, this _really_ is the preferable option to walking.”

“Well great! I’m glad you had time to use that big brain of yours.” Redd rubbed his eyes. “Did you think about what I said before? About how we’re only two fuckin’ people on the road, and if anyone or any _thing_ decides that they fancy these beasts more than they fear us, we’re _fucked_?”

“I am _begging_ you to get ahold of yourself, Axen.” Prospero rolled his eyes, staring down at him with a scowl. “If you don’t want your horse, you can sell her at the next town and walk alongside mine. But I will not forgo a much simpler method of travel just for paranoia disguised as ‘intuition.’”

“Oh no, you’re _not_ turning this on me. These things’ll need _constant_ food that we might not be able to give them! I’m _not_ crazy for showing caution.”

“It isn’t _caution_ when you’re not even using _logic.”_

“Ohhh, right. Logic. Because that’s your forte.” Redd scoffed. “The only things you find _logical_ are what further your own argument. Maybe I don’t want to use the _logic_ of someone who’s going to go _behind my back for his aching feet_!”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t need to go behind your back if the alternative wasn’t watching you stand there throwing a fit like a _stubborn child._ ” Prospero snapped. He opened his mouth for more, but, seeing the look on his friend’s face, his expression shifted. He stared down at Redd for a moment before closing his eyes. He let out a deep sigh and reached up to pinch the bridge of his pointed nose. “I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t want to have an argument,” He admitted eventually, “I’m sorry that I didn’t consult you, but could we _please_ just give this a try?”

Redd kept a pointed silence, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

“We’ve protected the entire _world,_ Redd _._ We can handle a couple of ‘four legs.’” He imitated the rogue’s air quotes, offering a tired, yet reassuring smile. “Let’s put it behind us, hmm? What say you?”

“… Dunno…” Redd muttered, “This _child_ isn’t feeling too forgiving yet.”

His smile wavered, and he took in another low breath. “Fine, fine. I’m… _sorry_ for… calling you a child,” He spoke in a somewhat strained tone. “That was… uncalled for. You’re… you were only… arguing your point of view. And there is, of course… nothing wrong with that.”

Redd watched the struggle with an amused smirk. “Really having a tough time with that one, huh?”

“Oh shut up,” Prospero muttered, “I’m… I’m getting used to it.”

“No kidding. _Now_ who’s acting like a child?” He grinned, enjoying the spectacle of the bard shifting his weight from side to side with discomfort.

“Fine, _fine._ Point made. I’m _sorry,_ Redd.”

“Yeah, well… I guess I’m sorry for raising my voice and all as well.” He paused, then added. “But not _as_ sorry.”

Prospero chortled, now standing back up to his. “Let’s get a move on already, yes?”

“Ech…” Redd wrinkled his nose at the grey-dappled horse that the half-elf led toward him. “Fine.”

“… Don’t tell me you don’t know how to ride a horse.”

“Of course I do!” Redd retorted indignantly, “But I’m definitely not _fond_ of it. It’s slow, it smells, and it hurts after a long day of sitting your ass on its rump.”

Prospero let out a chuckle, tugging the mask down over his face, stepping into the foothold of the saddle and swinging his leg over the other side. “Well, my dear boy, it’s better than your feet hurting after a long day of walking about in the heat.”

With some difficulty, the shifter seated himself in the horse’s saddle. Her mane was soft and white, and he absently found himself running his hand through it as he glanced back to Prospero for confirmation to set out. “Are you ready?”

“No,” He snapped his fingers, and the mask shifted to a wide grin. “I’m Percival.”

“Oh fuck _off!”_

Prospero let out a snort of laughter, snapping the reins as his steed began a healthy trot down the trodden road. Redd gave him an exaggerated groan in reply, shaking his head before doing the same and following his friend further into the fog.


	2. New Perspectives, New Encounters

Percival Alastor Bellbrough had never been one for travel. He’d spent the first near five decades of his life remaining happily cooped up in Imfelle and had never given much thought to foreign vacations or treks. He would often assert that the most travel he’d ever intended to undergo was the walk from his estate to Castle Marquis and back. Prospero van Dictah was a different man. Where Percival had eschewed unnecessary hikes or trips, Prospero was quite open to the idea of adventure. The scenic routes, the fresh air, the burning in one’s lungs after finishing an exerting climb… well, in theory at least. He’d never actually _done_ much exerting travel, mainly sitting in wagons as the circus moved from town to town. As such, the masked man was finding it quite difficult keeping these two wildly different personalities in check. Typically, Percival was shoved to the back, overshadowed by the larger-than-life personality of the theatrical Prospero Van Dictah. However, after time and trust spent with Redd and the others, the bard found that he was more comfortable letting Percival slip out and lounge around on occasion in place of the (admittedly exhausting) Prospero persona that he’d built up over the years. This of course, meant the occasional internal conflict.

He hadn’t _planned_ on going behind Redd’s back, of course. Certainly, he’d been frustrated when the sailor had refused to use common sense or a far more efficient means of travel. But he’d been fine with letting it go in the meantime. At the most, he planned to nag him about it at least one more time before he left. But then… Redd had mentioned the drinking idea, mainly as a joke, but it had set his mind off before he could even catch exactly what was happening. _What’s the harm in it, truly?_ Prospero had thought to himself. _I’ll only have to wake up a bit earlier, acquire the horses, and muscle through whatever comes next. He’ll understand once he’s actually riding them._

The idea of drinking together, however, was a whole other bundle of nerves for him. When he and the others had begun their Sunday meetups in Salt Marsh, Prospero had made a point never to consume any alcohol on their nights out. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down or get to a mental state that didn’t have an iron grip on his verbal filter. If he did order liquor alongside them, faking his own drunkenness was simple enough: a few simple magic tricks or ‘accidental’ spills. Putting on the mask and playing the fool was something he’d become horribly used to. For him, it had even become its form of intoxication in some nihilistic way, knowing that this ‘Prospero’ was not himself, but simply a part to play. A long con. A coat that could be slipped on for a day and tossed off at the end. He could let go of any shame or discomfort _Percival_ might have felt putting himself out there. As far as he was concerned, none of these people had a single clue who he was, nor would they remember anything outside of a ‘funny man in a mask’. That way the way he liked it: distanced, calculated, and utterly disingenuous. He remembered keeping meticulous mental notes on each of his ‘friends’, doing his best to appeal to what he thought they would enjoy, what they would trust. Among this, as well, was a record of anything that could be used against them if necessary: Redd could barely read and used his speed to avoid taking hits, Undertaker lived alone and required her cat to see, Grizz was gullible and terribly susceptible to enchanting magicks.

Even that night after all they’d been through, Prospero couldn’t help the thoughts and observations that flitted about his mind as they laughed and made merry in their little corner of the bar: Redd was a giggly drunk and let his guard down when they were together. Redd responded well to those who didn’t scold or judge his more criminal habits. Redd’s mental defenses were at their weakest when he was grieving or otherwise emotionally vulnerable.

He chided himself for such thoughts. After all, Redd and the others had been more kind and patient and stubbornly loyal than anyone else in his life. But these were survival tactics he’d weaned himself on since childhood. They would not disappear overnight. They’d dug into his brain with talons strengthened by decades of paranoia, urging him not to take chances and to know, if the time came, exactly how to manipulate the rogue if the situation required it. _After all_ , they whispered, _he could be doing the same thing, couldn’t he? Can you really afford to be hurt again?_

“Y’alright there, friend?” Redd’s slurried voice broke his train of thought, and all of a sudden reality seemed to snap back into place around him. Right, he was meant to be drinking. Having a bit of fun.

He forced a smile, posture shifting as he slipped back into his typical persona. “Of course, my dear boy! It’s just—Well, the alcohol is, well… still not to my taste. A bit cheap.”

Redd let out a short laugh. “Oh, a’ _course_ it is.”

Prospero silently praised his own cunning subject change. The thief had never been able to pass up an opportunity to tease him. “Well, I supposed I can _try_ and endure it for _you_.”

Redd rested his cheek, reddened by the drink, in his free palm. “Y’know I can… tell when you’re doing that, right?”

“… I’m afraid I’m a little unclear on what you’re talking about!”

“You can’t lie t’me, Percival. _I know you_.” He winked and reached around the man’s shoulders to give him a one-armed hug. When he smiled, something about its sincerity made Prospero’s chest hurt.

“… W… Well…” He began, a slight waver in his tone. “I was lost in thought. I’d… prefer to distract myself for now.”

Redd nodded, trusting enough that he didn’t need to pry. He turned toward the counter, calling out to order another round for the two of them in a sloppy way that the sober version of him would likely want to forget. Prospero only smiled, polishing off the bit of alcohol still left in his mug. It was still lukewarm and bitter, but he didn’t wince at the taste this time.

* * *

The two of them had carried on with the drinking for several hours, running up a tab and several frustrated scowls from the bartender. Overall, what struck Prospero most about drinking alongside Redd was not the taste of the beer or the atmosphere of the tavern, but the feeling of blind trust that would settle over him from time to time. He played up his own intoxication a few times, trying to act silly or sloppy in ways that he thought would make his friend laugh. In their quieter moments, however, he was impressed that his own seemingly boundless paranoia would occasionally quiet down, leaving him with nothing but the diminutive confidence that – for the moment at least – he was able to let his guard down around the friend who _knew_ him. As their energy began to slow down and their (though mostly Redd’s) inebriation ramped up, they retired upstairs. Surrounded by the stale odor of piss and vomit, Prospero crinkled his nose as he held back a vomiting Redd’s ponytail and muttered apologies the entire time. He did his best to clean the two of them up, but the alcohol – even if he’d drank less – was still affecting his ability to perform necessary tasks such as walking straight or moving his head too quickly in one direction. In the end, he walked (or rather, stumbled) the two of them to the room they’d paid for earlier in the night. Redd was muttering something low beneath his breath about trolls, so sloshed that the vowels and consonants were melding into one long slurry of unintelligible sound. Prospero helped tuck him in, then crashed into his own bed soon after, letting the nauseous feeling of falling into a deep sleep overcome him with open arms.

* * *

When he awoke, his eyes drooped, and there was a dull thudding in his head that he wasn’t sure he could get rid of on his own. He set his own plan into motion, going downstairs and ordering a couple of hangover cures for the two of them. The good kind, infused with magic, not the cheap sort you can make in any old kitchen. He left Redd’s with a separate cup of water and a note, paid off their tab, and then headed out to buy the horses. As he finalized the purchase conceived out of deceit toward a friend who trusted him, he felt something strange. It was a feeling that someone with any degree of emotional intelligence would have been able to recognize as mild guilt. Therefore, Prospero decided that it was a symptom of his hangover that the cure had overlooked.

He made his way toward the north exit and waited with the reins of the two horses clasped tightly in his gloved fist. Waiting was not an issue; he had always been a patient man. So after an hour when he finally saw a shadowed figure in the near distance, he raised a hand in greeting. It waved in return and made its way slowly toward him.

Prospero was not an idiot. He’d grown up under… interesting circumstances which had taught him two important lessons: 1. Make sure your ‘allies’ feel that _they_ are the ones smartly manipulating you into a better deal, and 2. Don’t trust what you _want_ to believe. As such, despite knowing that it was _most likely_ Redd walking toward him, he kept a ready hand resting on Vocemelius as the figure approached.

 _“_ FOUR LEGS!” The figure who was now undeniably Redd had shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger toward Prospero as the two horses trotted up behind him.

Prospero’s smile fell. _You made your bed, boy,_ a small, self-righteous voice hissed out inside his head, _now lie in it._

* * *

Redd’s ass stung.

The horseback ride was uncomfortable, disorienting, and gave him far less power than he felt he should have on deciding when to turn. It had been several hours since they’d started out on the road, and the moon was high in the sky at this point. Thankfully, they’d been able to make good pace along the road thus far, but the fact that they couldn’t travel unnoticed was beginning to eat at him. The fog had lightened, but still obscured their vision of far-off areas. Anything could be following them. If Prospero was concerned, he didn’t show it. Then again, he hadn’t ever shown much, especially with that smiling mask down over his face like it was. He hadn’t been as shy about it before, but Redd assumed it had something to do with that symbol. He remembered Prospero explaining that it meant something akin to ‘traitor.’ A visual warning sign to ‘innocent folk’ similar to thieves losing their fingers (he shuddered despite himself). Imfall must have had more influence on the mainland than he gave them credit for.

“So… the plan,” Redd began, trying to spitball conversation after the two of them having spent nearly ten minutes in silence, broken up by the occasional swatting noise as they got rid of a pesky bug. “Where should we be headin’ out first?”

Prospero yawned quietly before replying, “Well… admittedly, I wasn’t able to keep tabs on where Caius, Pseftis and Marguerite were. When I’d last gathered that information, I was still a part of Dozinsky’s travelling circus.”

“Fuckin’ _who?_ ”

“Dozinsky,” Prospero clarified, helpfully. “Tall, snide Earth Genasi. You wouldn’t have liked him. He hated foot travel.” He chortled beneath the mask at his own joke. “Ehm… Do you have any idea where your siblings might be?”

Redd’s brow knit, and he stared forward down the foggy road. “We would… exchange letters occasionally after I came to Salt Marsh.” He realized that his hands had been clenching the reins, and promptly relaxed his grip. Though Prospero had his mask pulled down, Redd could feel the pity coming off of him. “Either way, I don’t remember the specifics, but I know Gaelan was in the mountains, Freyin was in… the High Moors? And Arwin… I don’t know, somewhere out near those islands to the west.”

“… That’s a very meticulous record you keep.”

“Oh shut up!” Redd snapped, “You’re not any better than me in that regard. Besides, I… I don’t know, I didn’t really intend on seein’ them much before all this happened.”

“Because of ah… your brother?” Prospero asked, keeping his tone gentle.

Redd averted his eyes. “… Yeah.”

“Ah,” Prospero nodded, keeping his gaze forward. “Well, I have methods of locating people whether they want to be found or not. Don’t worry yourself too much.”

“That’s ominous.”

The bard gave a dark chuckle and a shake of his head. “Nothing too dastardly, though I know you wouldn’t be opposed to such a thing anyway. I’ll show you once we stop for a break.”

“I’ve got news for you: We’re stopping _soon_ ,” said Redd, “We’ve been riding for hours and I’m starvin’ and really startin’ to get sick of the horses.”

“Well then, if you find us a spot with those expert eyes of yours, I’ll be quite happy to stop for a post-midnight meal.” Prospero gave another muffled chuckle. “Though, you’ve got to admit, horseback is not _nearly_ as uncomfortable as the aching feet. _”_

“Sure it’s not, sure.” The Shifter scoffed. “Well, don’t you worry, Prissy-Pero—”

“Bad.”

“Prissy-val?”

“Better.”

“Thanks. Just follow me, yeah? There should be a spot over that way.” Redd snapped the reins, orienting his horse toward the edge of an old forest some fifty feet off the road. The trees were large, thick, and made of a rich, dark wood that neither of the party recognized. The roots jutted up and out of the soft grass, twisted into knots around each other or wrapping around their wide trunks. The foliage was dense, blocking out most light but also providing good cover from potential elements. The two carefully led the horses through, Redd lamenting how much easier it would be if they were on their own and wondering sarcastically aloud about how neither of them had thought about that before.

The two eventually came across a small clearing where the roots weren’t too prominent nor thick. Prospero immediately began his quiet spellcasting, drying the ground around them foot by foot so as to be more comfortable for sitting down. Typically, Redd would have teased him for being so fussy, but he didn’t quite fancy having to sit down on wet grass either, so he kept his mouth shut this time. After they had settled properly, Redd’s stomach growled.

“Eh… you think we ought’a get some fresh food in us? Seems like good hunting grounds after all, nice big forest.”

Prospero, who had long since removed his mask once the two had slipped into the hidden confines of the woods, quirked a scarred brow. “… Pardon me? I thought the point of us buying supplies was to consume those supplies.”

“Aye, aye, but—” Redd flapped a hand dismissively, “I think we ought to _save_ those for when there’s not a whole fuckin’ woods around us for hunting, eh? You know, like in a desert or—"

“I’d like to know _when_ you intend to lead us into a desert, Axen, because you’ll be participating in that leg of our journey on your own.”

“Shut up! You know what I mean!” He cried indignantly. “Besides, wouldn’t a nice, _fresh-cooked_ meal taste a lot better than the jerky shite you picked up?”

 _“I_ picked up—?”

 _“We_ picked up,” Redd corrected himself with a begrudging wrinkle of his nose. “It won’t take long, Percival.”

Prospero’s dark brow knit in contemplation. To fight, or to let it go. Redd had found that, as of late, his own stubbornness was beginning to outweigh his friend’s. Therefore, he wasn’t all too surprised when the bard let out a low sigh, like a parent who’s just too tired for further debate, and muttered, _“Yes, fine, I suppose I owe that to you anyway._ ”

A satisfied grin spread across the Shifter’s freckled face and he gave a triumphant little ‘ _clap_ ’. “Great!” He chirped, “I’ll not take long then. Make sure you’ve got a fire goin’ by the time I get back, eh? And _don’t take your eyes off the horses._ ”

“I’m not a child, Axen.” Prospero paused and regarded his friend with a cool gaze. “… Be careful.”

Redd only grinned again, offering a two-finger salute before turning on his heel and marching off deeper into the woods.

* * *

To anyone even partially versed in Faerunian geography, these thick, twisting wilds, would likely have been near instantly recognizable: a dead ringer for the Weaver’s Woods. It was expanse of forest so deep and black that many often claimed it was the place where light went to die. Those who didn’t feel up to being metaphorical would at _least_ have the good sense to warn adventuring greenhorns to save their hides and not bother trying to cut through or, gods forbid, make _camp_ in such a place. Perhaps if it had been lighter, or if either of the two travellers had the decent sense to check their location on the map they’d purchased before leaving Salt Marsh, they would have come to the same revelation and subsequent conclusion. For them, however, this had never been a planned destination so much as a spot of convenience. As such, neither of them had thought twice about settling near its edges, and _certainly_ not about stalking through its twisting roots and trunks in search of food.

Redd put on a good show on non-chalance making his way through the dense wilds. But even with his darkvision he was unnerved. Typically he could at least get a few cracks of moonlight through the branches on a night hunting trip. These woods offered no such comfort. The canopy of leaves above him was so thick and so expansive that it felt like solid roof stretching around him for miles. It smothered him in a blanket of back, and he found himself thinking about how grateful he would be once he was back with Prospero and the comforting, orange light of a fire.

Something scuttled a few paces to his right. His fox-like ears flicked up, now alerted to his prey. He drew a finger to his lips and tasted it before holding it up to the air. There was no wind, though he supposed he should’ve expected it. Nevertheless, no wind meant far less of a chance of this animal picking up his scent. He dropped into a crouch and began stalking toward where the noise had come from. The coiling roots made it difficult, but he and the dark got along well. He crept up toward a thicket of roots, poking his head carefully around the side. His eyes locked on their target only partially visible in the total blackness: A fat rabbit, twitching its nose and munching unsuspectingly on a patch of grass. He drew a dagger from his belt loop. He took careful steps, weaving around and over each of the roots in his path with ease. As he drew nearer and nearer, he could think of nothing but the _delectable_ stew this was going to make. Once close enough, he raised the dagger in a wide arc and prepared his strike.

_Grrrruuuuuuggghhl._

His stomach roared, clear and loud as though it were a separate beast of its own. The rabbit’s gaze snapped up toward him before the creature turned and bolted into the trees. Redd cursed loudly under his breath. That little guy was dinner, and he was _not_ about to spend more time alone in these woods than he had to. That being said, running after it wouldn’t work. Luckily, the soft ground left a lovely trail, one that animals were often not as particular about trying to mask or cover. He fell back into rhythm, slowing his breath, shuffling quietly through the underbrush and following the grooves and divots the frightened animal had left in the soil. He mentally cursed his greedy gut the entire way for not being strong enough to wait an extra five seconds. This wasn’t even the hungriest he’d ever _been_.

He didn’t know how long it took. Under the impermeable cover of leaves the sky was impossible to see. Nevertheless, the thief was eventually able to relocate the creature which had nestled up among another patch of upturned, winding roots with some blotchy white colouring. He was taking no chances this time. He removed the crossbow from his back, loaded it with a deft hand, and took care of the rabbit with a single shot.

He gave a satisfied whistle at his own handiwork, emerging quickly from his hiding spot in the treeline to go and retrieve their dinner. “Right then,” He scolded his stomach, “Was that so fuckin’—”

His voice died in his mouth as he moved closer to the roots and, subsequently, got a better look at the white blotches on the wood. They were not, as he had previously assumed, simply discolouration. The patches of white had a texture to them, thick and sticky like thin strands of batter.

Redd snatched the dead rabbit up by its ears before stumbling backward and pushing himself up to his feet. His head whipped around in all directions, searching for the thing he was so sure was going to be breathing (and likely biting) down on his neck at any second. It was during this that he finally saw something amidst the trees that he’d missed before in his complete focus of tracking the rabbit. He craned his head and bit down _hard_ on his cheek to keep himself from making noise. There, suspended between two of the large, dark trunks, was a body wrapped head to toe in thick, dark-stained webbing.

It suddenly occurred to Redd that he was completely in the dark, alone, with no knowledge of how far he was from Prospero, nor how far he was from the thing that could very well know how far _he_ was from _it._

He took several slow steps back. It was difficult to tear his eyes off of whatever had been killed and wrapped up in that tree. It was difficult not to think about the stories his older siblings tried to scare him with as a child: how the giant spiders would paralyze their victims. How the fear was not the pain of having your insides eaten, but the helplessness as you were forced to watch.

A shudder rocketed down his spine and he bolted in the other direction, not caring if he alerted the creatures (oh gods, creatures? How many were there? Was there any way to tell?) to his presence. They would be bigger than him, but he knew that he was faster. He could evade, outrun if he had to. But his thoughts turned to Prospero, who had not ventured deep enough to know what laid in its depths. Prospero, who was perceptive, but could still be sneaked up upon if something had a tactical or geographical advantage. Prospero, whose only companions were the _extremely delectable animals that didn’t have the wherewithal to hide from large predators. Prospero—_

Redd’s breathing came harsh and quick as he ran. _He could be dying, he could be dead already, and it’ll be my fault. It’ll be my fault again. It can’t be my fault again._ _“PROSPERO!”_ He cried out desperately, trying to remember the direction he’d come from. _“PROSPEROOOO!”_

 _“—edd…?”_ Came a faint, distant reply. The whatever followed was too faint to make out, though it sounded concerned. Redd rushed toward the voice in a dead sprint, now gasping with each inhale of breath. At least he was alive, at least he was alright.

He didn’t have much time to feel relieved before three other sounds rang out through the forest in quick succession: A loud _‘crack’_ , the terrified whinnying of horses, and a cacophony of something that sounded like humanoid screeching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shit took so many rewrites rip to the 5+ pages of lost content.

**Author's Note:**

> I've not written in months this was a wild ride


End file.
